Chapter Three: Hear My Fury
A/N: Just...wow. I am amazed at how many of you wonderful people have taken an interest in this story! I hope this update satisfies you for now; I promise a longer one when I next get internet as I'm still overseas. Also, if you have read the books, please check out Poison and Wine, an Aegon/OC story I'm writing.
The hall was a whirl of colour as people spun in circles, dancing and laughing. Mella felt like a completely separate entity, like she was only observing life rather than being a part of it. She was only a watcher, noticing what was happening around her but making no effort to join in. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, as her brother Joffrey sat beside her with a petulant scowl, sipping from his wine goblet. At the beginning of the feast, perhaps she wouldn't have questioned him, but the wine and her own annoyance had made her bold.
"What seems to be the problem, brother?"
"None of the northern girls have asked me to dance," Joffrey complained, taking another sip of his wine. Mella felt a sting of irritation run through her. Of course, Joffrey would whinge about anything and everything. She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, folding her arms across her chest. She was supposed to be at least trying to enjoy the feast, but Joffrey made that harder than ever. A nasty smile crossed his lips. "I suppose I'm not the only one. None of the northern boys have asked you to dance, have they? Such a shame..."
"Shut up, Joffrey," Mella snapped, rising to her younger brother's bait magnificently and earning a smug smile from him. "I don't feel like dancing, in any case. Besides, you are supposed to ask girls to dance, not the other way around. Perhaps you should see if Sansa will honour you with a dance."
Joffrey seemed to consider this a good idea, because he clambered to his feet and walked away from the table in search of the pretty auburn-haired girl. Mella relaxed, because although she was now alone at the table, it was preferable to having to bear her loathsome brother's presence. She watched Bran dancing with Myrcella and a smile spread across her lips. At least her younger siblings were having fun.
"Why are you here all by yourself?" Mella glanced around to see that it was Robb Stark speaking to her, that he now occupied the seat that Joffrey had left. She offered him a polite smile. She would have to befriend Robb, as he would be Lord of Winterfell in his father's absence. He had escorted her in to the feast and he seemed to be a nice enough young man, if only because he had learned courtly manners from his parents. Mella had thought him handsome, but then again, so were many young noblemen.
"Sometimes I prefer my own company," Mella confessed, before she realized how antisocial she sounded and amended her words with a smile. "I mean to say, the feast is wonderful, but my brother's mood seems to be rubbing off on me as well."
"I'm guessing that mood is not a good one," Robb chuckled. Mella smiled demurely and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She already felt that she had said too much, and it wasn't polite of her to talk about Joffrey in such a manner. Her courtly conduct was slipping. Perhaps it was due to her dismay at becoming a ward in Winterfell, but that was no excuse. She was a princess and she would continue to behave as such. "Perhaps you'd do the honour of dancing with me, my lady?"
Mella was a little astonished by the offer, yet she was pleased at the same time. Perhaps the northerners were taking well to her after all – either that, or Robb was kindly attempting to help her fit in, considering that she was going to be a ward in Winterfell. Either way, she saw the opportunity to interact with someone her own age, and she took Robb's hand. The beat was slow but the music was sultry, and Mella wondered if this was considered a rather raunchy song in the north. Colour flared in her cheeks.
Robb put one arm around her slender waist and took her hand in his. Mella noticed how much bigger his hands were than hers, but she turned her mind from the matter immediately, putting her free hand on his shoulder. Mella allowed Robb to take the lead, and she was very grateful when he valiantly attempted to take up a conversation.
"Do you dance a lot in the south, my lady?"
"Please, it's just Mella," she assured him. She had never really been one for titles or distinction of rank. In King's Landing, the dances were a lot less contact-friendly. The pair would place their palms together at the very most, but it would appear that things were different here in Winterfell. In fact, the last person Mella had danced with had been her second cousin, Lancel Lannister, and he had been afraid to so much as touch her for fear that Robert would have his head. "We do, but our dances are far different."
The difference in styles made Mella acutely aware of Robb's arm around her waist, of his fingers interlinked with hers. Of course it was just a dance – but she was grateful for the fact that he would think the spots of colour in her cheeks from dancing rather than because of their closeness. Mella allowed Robb to spin her, catching her with both arms to steady her before taking her hand in his again.
"Different how?" Robb inquired, his bright blue eyes seeming to bore into her. Mella forced herself to surrender to the beat of the music, to feel it pulsing within her. She needed to focus on something other than her close proximity to the heir of Winterfell, because she was growing flustered and as a princess, being flustered was not at all becoming. She let Robb twirl her again.
"There's just a lot less contact involved in southern dances," Mella admitted. Robb's eyes widened slightly and he drew his arm back from around her waist, taking a step back. Clearly, he thought he had offended her. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, looking rather embarrassed.
"My apologies. I wasn't aware...you should have just told me that I was being forward."
Mella couldn't help the surprised laugh that escaped her. "You weren't being forward. It was just a dance."
"Of course." Robb inclined his head to her. "If you'll excuse me, Mella, I have to sort out my younger brother. It would appear that Bran is refusing to go to bed when told and I'll have to do something about it."
Mella nodded, watching as Robb turned and walked away. Her stomach suddenly wriggled with guilt, although she wasn't sure why. She hadn't done anything wrong by Robb, yet somehow she felt as though she had. Was it the thought of conforming to something her parents might want for her?
"I think you've made quite an impression on the Young Wolf." Cersei placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, smiling sweetly and tucking a strand of dark hair behind Mella's ear. The princess immediately flushed. If her own mother thought there was something transpiring between her and Robb...
"It was only a dance, Mother."
Cersei laughed and tossed back her blonde hair in a manner which made Mella feel very small. It was the same laugh she'd heard since she was a little girl, the mirthless kind which Cersei made to assure Mella that she'd got something wrong. Mella averted her eyes, feeling rather stupid as Cersei leaned in and kissed her cheek affectionately.
"Mella, sweetling, he is a boy of seventeen. He no doubt finds you beautiful – what sane man wouldn't? – and you can use that to your advantage."
Mella felt her stomach drop. Was that the real reason her father wanted her to stay in the north? Were Robert and Cersei hinting at a marriage between her and Robb in the near future? She barely even knew the boy. Suddenly, the feast seemed to have lost all its appeal for her, and all Mella wanted to do was go to bed.
"Mother, please. I have no wish to marry him."
"Marriage?" Cersei looked surprised, and then she gave that mirthless laugh of hers again. "Darling, whoever said anything about marriage? Just because you bed a man, it doesn't mean that you have to marry him."
Mella understood the implications all too clearly. Her mother wanted her to sleep with Robb Stark but not marry him, and Mella had the sickening feeling that Cersei wanted her to spy on the Starks. To achieve what end? Mella didn't view them as at all threatening, but perhaps she was wrong. She gnawed at her lip, watching as Joffrey kissed Sansa's hand and the red-haired girl giggled delightedly. Her head was spinning and she thought perhaps she might have had too much to drink.
"I think I might go up to bed," Mella murmured, uncertain of whether her mother had heard her or not. She drifted through the feast as if in a dream. Cersei hadn't been happy about Robert leaving Mella in the north, yet now it seemed that the queen was trying to manipulate the situation to suit her. Well, Mella wasn't content to be a pawn of her mother's will. She was not a child anymore, and she didn't have to listen if she didn't want to. She was shocked that Cersei would even suggest such a thing. She was a princess of Westeros, not a whore. She wouldn't sleep with any man for information, not even if he was as handsome as Robb Stark. Was that all she was for? Was that all she meant to her parents? Being a woman was a terrifying thing indeed if all it meant was having to please a man.
"My lady?" It was Theon Greyjoy, the one her ladies had warned her about. He was a terrible flirt and a notorious womanizer, and they had told her it would be best to stay away from him. But now he approached Mella with concern shining in his eyes, and she knew it would be rude to tell him to leave her alone. "My lady, are you alright? You don't look well."
"I'm fine, thank you," Mella replied, but Theon's concerns had brought an another unwanted presence. Joffrey sauntered across to his older sister and threw Theon a rather contemptuous glance, feigning brotherly protection as he put a hand on Mella's arm.
"I'll thank you to stop harassing my sister, Greyjoy," Joffrey stated disdainfully, "I will speak to my sister myself, if you don't mind."
Once Theon had inclined his head and walked away, Joffrey whirled Mella around to face him, his green eyes full of irritation – yet Mella herself was annoyed. She had not asked for her brother's interference, and none she knew that he would push the blame onto her, as though she had wanted him to help.
"What is the matter with you?" Joffrey snapped at her, his face furrowing into a scowl of disapproval. "Must you act like such a brat because you're having to stay in the north? You're spoiling things between my lady and I. Sansa keeps asking if you are alright, and she shouldn't. She should be asking about me."
His selfishness struck her like a slap to the face. She knew that her brother was a horrid brat a lot of the time, but this was just taking it too far. It wasn't Mella's fault that Sansa wasn't asking about Joffrey. She hated how he managed to pin the blame for everything back on her. Just like when they had been young and Joffrey had fallen from a tree and broken his arm. He had blamed Mella because she'd climbed up there first.
That was when her temper boiled over. Not only did she have Cersei's plotting to worry about, but now she had Joffrey's accusations as well. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging little crescents into the palms of her hands. Oh, how she would dearly love to hit him...yet she knew how unseemly that would be. Ladies never hit.
"You self-absorbed little snot," Mella hissed at him under her breath, causing Joffrey's eyes to widen in shock. "Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? No, of course not. Stupid question, really. Well perhaps you might consider Sansa about herself, rather than waiting for everyone to flock to you, you egocentric little..."
She shook her head. No, she wouldn't finish that sentence. She was a young lady and she was already dangerously close to losing all semblance of composure. Shaking her head furiously, Mella turned and stalked out of the feast, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She kept trying to remind herself that she was a princess, that she was strong...but it didn't seem to matter, because she still felt so very miserable.